


I'll Cover You

by PhiraLovesLoki



Series: Captain Swan Tumblr Prompts [10]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Battle of the Bands, Competition, F/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:03:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4159725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A contest radically alters the relationship between Emma Swan and Killian Jones, lead singers of two local bands. Captain Swan Battle of the Bands AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Cover You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inspirational88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspirational88/gifts).



> For in-spirational: Thanks for being so patient, waiting for this prompt!
> 
> Thank you to my dear friend L (one1iness), for editing the story, and for coming up with the fantastic title.

 

“Emma! Check this out!” Mary Margaret said excitedly as she burst into Graham’s basement, David hot on her heels. She waved a flyer. “Battle of the cover bands!”

“Seriously?” Emma grabbed the hot pink flyer Mary Margaret was shoving into her hands. “‘Battle of the Cover Bands, March fourteenth, eight PM.’ This might be fun. We haven’t done covers in a while.”

“How many songs?” Graham asked, already sitting at his drum kit.

“Depends on the number of participants,” David said. “We called on the way and asked. It sounds like they’ve got a couple other bands already interested.”

Emma handed the flyer to Graham, who looked it over. He whistled. “We could definitely use the prize. Five hundred dollars isn’t bad for a few covers.”

“So I’ll sign up?” Mary Margaret asked enthusiastically as she took her guitar out.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” Emma replied. They hadn’t done covers since the last college party they’d played. Graham had been writing original music for them, and even though they had no plans to go professional, she loved the challenge that came with songwriting. There was always so much to write, so much to test, and so much to tweak; playing music was fun, but creating it was really _art._

Then again, while playing covers at parties might get boring, playing them in a competition meant the group would have to get a little creative. Audiences got bored listening to covers that all sounded like copies of the original; the band could gain the edge in the competition by adding unique twists to the songs. Depending on the other bands that entered, Emma was pretty sure their chances were great.

Unless, Emma realized with a groan, _Killian Jones_ and Jolly My Roger were entering. But she shook her head at the thought. Covers were _beneath_ him and his _amazing_ band. He probably hadn’t even heard about this contest.

She bumped into Killian the following evening, though it was no surprise. He was one of her regular customers at the bar; he’d been coming in during the majority of her shifts for about six months.

“Evening, Jones,” she said. “Want me to grab you the usual, or another bartender?”

“The usual,” he said, grinning. “Why on _earth_ would I want you to fetch me another bartender when we both know how much I adore you?”

“Oh, so you’re _not_ still pissed about the gig you think we stole from you last weekend?” she teased playfully.

“All is forgiven, love,” he said as she poured him a Captain and Coke. “We landed an even better one instead.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said. “Wouldn’t have wanted to ruin your career.”

“Play nice, Swan,” he replied. “You wouldn’t want to lose your tip.”

“We both know you’ll be tipping me generously no matter what,” she replied. “You can’t help it. You always do.”

“When you’re my bartender,” he added.

“When I’m your bartender,” she agreed. Nights when she wasn’t, it was always because he was frustrated with her and asked for someone else.

* * *

 

It didn’t bother her _that_ much, really. They had a good relationship. Right from the first time he came in, he’d been friendly and more than a little flirty, even asking her out a few times. She’d always turned him down, since she didn’t date customers, and he’d _of course_ offered to find another bar, but she pointed out that she’d lose his tip if he did. She was a little glad that he hadn’t found another bar to frequent: even if she had no plans to date him, he was really fun to talk to, and it was always enjoyable chatting with another musician. She suspected that was one of the reasons he kept coming back as well.

And so he’d stayed, and tipped very well from then on, except for the first night he’d come in angry, pissed off at her for interfering with his life (by getting a gig he was trying to get). He’d been really unpleasant, making all sorts of comments about how she wasn’t the right kind of musician, and how she and her _stupid band_ didn’t really need that gig, and how if they were _really_ a band, they wouldn’t play covers all the time. After a little while, he stormed out, barely pausing to pay his tab and pointedly filling in the tip line with an angry zero.

When he’d returned later in the week, he had been incredibly sheepish. “You know, you didn’t need to come back,” she’d said. “If you dislike me this much, you don’t have to see me.”

“No,” he’d said, staring at the bar. “I don’t dislike you at all. I’m sorry for my appalling behavior, love. I assure you that I’ll be a gentleman from now on.”

“If you’re frustrated with me, though …”

“I won’t be.”

“You _will._ You’re only human, Jones. It’ll happen again. Princess Charming isn’t going to break up any time soon.”

“Then I’ll just make sure to greet you with a smile and ask for another bartender,” he’d said. And that’s what they’d done.

* * *

 

“Well, we don’t have anything coming up,” she said, continuing the conversation. “Or, I guess, not _much_ coming up. Definitely nothing we could steal from you.”

“Good to know, Swan,” he replied, sipping his drink. “How’s school going?”

“Pretty well. Spring break is coming up, so I’ll be able to pick up some more hours in here, and work on some original stuff for school and for the band.”

“That sounds nice.”

“What about you guys?”

“We’ve got a few gigs coming up, mostly Friday nights and Saturdays.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, we’re excited. We have some new material we’ve been waiting to roll out. We’re also doing this stupid contest thing that Liam insisted on. There’s a five hundred dollar cash prize we could definitely use.”

She groaned. “Not Battle of the Cover Bands on the fourteenth?”

He blinked at her and frowned. “I supposed I should close out my tab now and open a new one with someone else, yeah?”

“I’m on it,” she said.

Emma knew that Killian wasn’t _angry_ with her. Not really. But his band was legitimately trying to find its footing in the music industry, while hers was simply a group of people she was friends with from the conservatory where she studied. They played purely for fun, and whatever money they managed to pick up for performing usually went towards instrument and equipment maintenance and repair. One of the reasons they’d been able to scoop a few gigs from Jolly My Roger was that they could afford to play jobs for less.

And while Emma wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, she had her parents paying for tuition and housing; working at the bar was her way of supplementing her income so she could pay for band-related expenses. Her three friends were in similar positions. In contrast, Jolly My Roger’s members needed every cent they earned by performing; their day jobs barely covered their bills. When Killian had snapped at her that one time, he’d accused her of taking his rent money.

While Killian didn’t mind as much when Princess Charming snagged a low-paying gig at a local house party, it bothered him when they booked bars, cafes, or clubs—pretty much anywhere that a band might get discovered. Emma’s band _hadn’t_ been discovered at any of those venues, and neither had Killian’s, but he was frustrated at the missed opportunity nonetheless.

She knew that Killian probably wouldn’t want to talk to her until after the contest. And if Princess Charming beat Jolly My Roger? Well, maybe he’d find another bar altogether. That wasn’t a thought she particularly enjoyed; she wasn’t sure _what_ work would be like without him at the bar regularly. But she was getting tired of the competitiveness, and the fact that even if she _did_ want a friendship with him (which she didn’t, _of course;_ he was a customer, and she wasn’t friends with customers), she wasn’t sure she could handle one that depended so much on her staying out of his way.

But to Emma’s surprise, the next time Killian came into the bar, he sat in front of her and greeted her as usual.

“I don’t want to lose my tip, but are you sure you don’t want another bartender?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’m trying to forget about it for now,” he replied. “Besides, I’m confident we’ll be taking home the prize money.”

She rolled her eyes. “We used to exclusively _do_ covers. When’s the last time _you_ played something you or Liam didn’t write?”

He chuckled. “Please, love. Covers are nothing. You know as well as I do that you don’t even have to be talented to sing a damn cover,” he said before winking. She clenched her fists below the bar. His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “I mean, _perform_ a cover. As a band.”

“No, you meant ‘sing,’” she replied angrily. “You meant _me.”_ It was one thing to have him insult the band as a whole; it came off as just harmless teasing. And when he joked about her skills on the piano, it was always about how she was “too well-trained”. But before they’d become competitive, she’d confided in him that she was insecure about her vocal abilities, and that she and Graham frequently had to pitch songs to fit her somewhat limited range. She was studying jazz piano and composition, not vocal performance; she could sing, but it wasn’t her real gift.

And she’d told him that months ago. He wasn’t supposed to use that against her.

“Swan, I didn’t mean that,” he said gently.

“I’ll get you another bartender,” she said curtly, before going over to get Elsa’s attention.

“Are you okay?” her coworker asked when Emma tapped her on the shoulder.

“Yeah, you know, it’s just one of those nights with us. The usual. Just take care of him for tonight?”

“No problem.”

Emma spent the rest of the night avoiding Killian’s gaze and trying not to break anything in irritation. She was unused to being the angry one, and she didn’t like it at all.

* * *

 

The following evening, after a satisfying rehearsal, she showed up to her shift at the bar to find Killian already waiting. “Swan, I’m sorry,” he said as soon as she got behind the bar.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said quickly. “Can I get you the usual?”

“No,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

Her shoulders sagged; this wasn’t how things were supposed to work. They weren’t _friends._ When they talked, it was because she was his bartender. It didn’t matter if they had talked about music, or hopes and dreams, or insecurities, or past relationships (although they _had_ talked about all those things). He was still a customer. “Jones, I work here. I can only talk to you if you’re a paying customer.”

“Or if you’d see me socially.”

“I don’t date customers,” she reminded him. “But right now, it doesn’t matter. You know how this works. When one of us is upset, someone else serves you, and then we move on.”

“No,” he corrected. “When _I’m_ upset, someone else serves me, et cetera. And we both know I’m never really _that_ upset with you. This is different, love. Having you be upset with me is new. I don’t like it.”

“Killian,” she said firmly, getting his attention. She rarely used his first name. “I don’t want to talk about what you said last night. So please, order something from me and we can talk about what we usually talk about, or let me go get Elsa or Anton.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, sighing. “I’ll see you around, Swan.” And he got off his barstool and left.

* * *

 

“He clearly wanted to apologize,” Mary Margaret said the following day. “She should have just let him.”

“That’s not fair,” David pointed out. “They have a system for when he’s upset with her. Why shouldn’t she get the same treatment?”

“He doesn’t get upset with _her,”_ Mary Margaret argued. “He gets upset with _us._ This is different. She’s upset because he actually hurt her feelings. She’s not upset with him for stealing a gig or something.”

“Guys, I’m right here,” Emma pointed out. But her friends kept talking; Graham just shrugged helplessly at her, unwilling to intervene.

“So she should _have_ to talk to him? She should _have_ to forgive him?” David continued. “She didn’t want an apology; she just wanted to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“But it _did_ happen,” Mary Margaret countered, “and she’s clearly still upset about it. Apologizing and making it up to her would smooth things over so they could go back to being friends.”

“We’re _not_ friends,” Emma said, but it was pointless.

“He should respect her by doing what she’s asking for,” David said. “He shouldn’t presume to know that apologizing would make her feel better. This is Emma we’re talking about; she just wants to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“They don’t have a chance to be together if she doesn’t let him apologize.”

“I don’t date customers,” Emma said, increasingly irritated at being ignored.

“They don’t have a chance to be together if he doesn’t respect her wishes.”

“Guys, maybe we should get back to rehearsing?” Graham asked, successfully interrupting.

“Have we decided what else we’re going to play?” Emma asked, grateful to be moving on to another subject.

“Not yet,” Graham said. “I think we should rehearse what we already have. I think ‘Iris’ needs a bit more of an edge to it to keep the audience engaged, so I’ve made a few changes.”

“All right,” Mary Margaret said, grabbing her guitar. And with that, rehearsal commenced.

But Emma still felt so _distracted._ She was peeved that Mary Margaret and David, who honestly treated her like she was a child sometimes, were so interested in what had happened with Killian. But even though she wasn’t sure which one she agreed (or disagreed) with more, she did notice they both seemed awfully invested in her and Killian being a _thing._

Which was absurd. She had her policy regarding dating customers for good reasons: it discouraged creepy patrons from hitting on her, and the most relentlessly annoying ones would leave for a “chance” at dating her. She did give a hard “no” to the ones who came back, hoping she’d been sincere, but for the most part, it was an effective policy.

Killian was still a customer, even if he was one of her regulars. Even if he was unbelievably handsome. Even if she enjoyed talking to him. Even if they had a shared love of music. Even if she’d probably date him if she’d met him somewhere else first. He was _still_ a customer.

But he didn’t show up at the bar during her next shift. Or the next one. Or the next one. She thought that maybe he was just avoiding her, but she checked with Anton and confirmed that Killian hadn’t been in the bar all week.

Suddenly work was much more dull. She had other regulars, and plenty of other single customers tipped her very well after some lively and moderately flirtatious conversation. But she missed Killian.

She didn’t have his number, which made sense because he was a customer, and she didn’t exchange numbers with customers. So she couldn’t text or call him and ask what was wrong. She found some information about Jolly My Roger’s upcoming gigs, but she was working at the bar during each of them. There was no way to reach out, although she had no idea what she would _say_ to him if she managed to get in touch.

She was _lonely,_ and she knew it was because of him. But that didn’t make any sense; he wasn’t even her _friend._

She tried to distract herself from her loneliness as best she could. She threw herself hard into her schoolwork, sometimes staying at school for hours to practice on a real piano instead of her keyboard at home. She rehearsed passionately with the band, to the point where even Graham, who was typically extremely calm and collected, got visibly frustrated with her constant tweaks and changes to the songs. “It doesn’t have to be _perfect_ , Emma,” he reminded her. “There are a thousand different ways we could do this. There’s no one right way.”

She was lying awake in bed a week before the contest when she realized what was _really_ wrong.

The next afternoon, she nervously asked the band what they thought about changing out a couple songs. “I just think it would make the set more fun, more peppy,” she explained. “And the P!nk song definitely has a lot of attitude.”

“I don’t know,” Graham said slowly. “The Christina Perri song might be a little tough to do on such short notice, especially if—”

“I’m up for it!” Mary Margaret said enthusiastically. “Seriously, I think that would be a great idea.”

“I was thinking we could swap out Taylor Swift for some Jason Mraz,” David suggested. “If we’re switching songs, I mean.”

“Guys!” Graham was clearly frustrated. “This is a lot of work for a single week!”

“Sounds good to me,” Emma said quickly. Sure, she hadn’t planned on Mraz, but it was doable, especially since she was already way ahead of Graham after spending the night unable to sleep, brainstorming composition ideas for the two songs she’d suggested. And besides, she realized, the song fit in nicely for what she needed. “Let’s get to work.”

* * *

 

The day of the contest finally arrived, and Emma felt extremely nervous. “Relax,” Graham said, giving her a quick shoulder rub. “It’s just a battle of the bands. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” she said. But it was more than that now. She’d made sure of it, and it was too late to chicken out.

She almost bolted, though, when she saw Killian and his brother Liam arrive with their drummer Ariel in tow. She avoided his gaze; she didn’t want to see his expression and have it influence her tonight.

“Hey!” A distraction arrived in the form of Belle, lead vocalist for Band of Bookworms. “It’s so good to see you guys!”

“Good to see you, too!” Emma quickly hugged her. “I didn’t know you were playing tonight!”

“Yep, we’re going on first,” Belle said nervously.

“I hope you break a leg!” Mary Margaret said. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“Who else is playing?” David asked. “Besides us and Jolly My Roger, of course.”

“Just Doctor, Doctor,” Belle replied. She laughed when all four of them smiled. “Well, at least it’ll be entertaining.” The band relied a lot on the lead singer’s charm, and while Victor _was_ smooth, he was sometimes _too_ smooth. It was like listening to Zapp Brannigan sing. And the drummer, Jefferson, sometimes went a little wacky with the rhythm. It did not make for an award winning performance, to say the least.

“Anyway,” Belle continued, “I’ve got to go help set up. Will’s in a bad mood today, and I think Mulan might kill him if I’m not there to break the tension.”

“We’ll see you later,” Emma promised.

While the stage was being set up for Band of Bookworms, Emma kept nervously looking around for Killian, specifically so she could make sure _not_ to make eye contact. She was relieved that he didn’t approach her, although she was also a bit disappointed. Was this pain really one-sided? Was she the only one upset? Was he really not going to even _try_ to talk to her? No—she had to remember she didn’t want him to try to talk to her right now.

Her first challenge of the evening arrived in the form of the MC, who approached them and waved over Jolly My Roger. “All right, so Band of Bookworms requested to go on first because of another commitment they’ve got. I’m sure that’s all right with you?” He was asking to be polite, since clearly the decision had already been made. Besides, going first wasn’t really anyone’s preference; Band of Bookworms was definitely taking a bullet there. “Doctor, Doctor requested to go last because their bassist is bringing dinner to her sick grandmother and might not get here in time unless they’re at the end of the night. Is that okay?”

It was a disappointment—or it should have been—given that going last often meant going out with a bang and impressing the audience. And sure enough, Emma could see her bandmates’ faces fall. But they all nodded anyway; Doctor, Doctor was _not_ going to win, not with Princess Charming _and_ Jolly My Roger competing, so it wasn’t worth the argument.

“So, which of you is going second, and which’ll be third?” he asked.

This was her chance. “Second,” she said quickly.

But her voice was oddly doubled: Killian had said the same word at the same time. She turned to him in surprise; he looked confused and irritated, and maybe a little bit of something else (she couldn’t quite tell). And all their bandmates were annoyed.

“Oh come on, third!” Graham said. “We’ll go third.”

“No, _we’ll_ go third,” said Ariel. “We want to!”

“Second,” Emma and Killian said at the same time again.

The MC sighed and rolled his eyes before pulling out a coin. “Pretty boy,” he said to Killian, “call it.”

“Heads!”

It was tails.

“Second,” Emma said triumphantly. Graham looked disgusted, but Mary Margaret and David just shrugged. Good: she didn’t want to argue with everyone, and as long as there was a majority in favor (or, she figured, not opposed) to the order she’d chosen, Graham would keep his thoughts to himself.

Band of Bookworms kicked things off with Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” (thank goodness, Emma thought, that David had opted to replace the Swift song they’d chosen). The band was particularly talented, albeit a little quirky. Belle was a phenomenal singer, which was actually pretty terrible news for Princess Charming; compared to Belle, Emma was definitely going to be the less impressive female vocalist of the night. They weren’t automatically screwed, though; while Robin was a great bassist, Mulan was pretty mechanical on drums, and Will’s moods tended to dictate his guitar skills. If he really was in a bad mood like Belle had said, Princess Charming stood a better chance.

The rest of Band of Bookworms’ set was entertaining, although it was clear from a couple of the songs Belle had picked (notably Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep”) that she might not be entirely over her recent break-up. Meanwhile, Emma was distracted. Normally, before a performance, she dealt with just the mild anxiety that came with the gig, and she could rely on her adrenaline to get her through until she stepped off stage. But now, she was dealing with those typical nerves _and_ the apprehension regarding what she was about to do.

It was bad enough that she was _feeling_ all this crap. It was bad enough that she’d made such a momentous decision about all of it. It was bad enough that she’d kept it from her friends, not wanting to know, positive or negative, how they’d react. But of _all_ of the stupid things she could do, she had to choose to do this _in public?_

* * *

 

After Band of Bookworms wrapped their set with “I Choose You” by Sara Bareilles, it was Princess Charming’s turn, whether Emma was ready or not.

Her hands shook as she set up her keyboard and helped with the amps. She tried to focus, knowing that, at the very least, she’d have time to get a handle on her stage persona, as she liked to think of it, before she had to do the thing she’d been planning to do. And so, after all four of them had a few moments to get comfortable and make sure everything was properly hooked up and ready to go, she took a deep breath, centered herself, and got started.

They opened with “Iris,” which Graham had been opposed to, insisting that they needed something a little more upbeat to begin their set with. But they’d worked on punching it up a bit; while it retained all of the angst and power that the minor key provided, Emma had spent several hours turning it from an alternative rock ballad into a punk one. And it was a great way to warm up her vocal cords, since the range was a little less acrobatic than the range for some of their other songs.

She knew Killian was watching her intently, but she wasn’t ready to meet his gaze yet. She had to focus on the performance, and there would be a better time to check his expression. Besides, this was one of her favorite songs, and she knew they’d knocked it out of the park when they hit the instrumental bridge and the crowd was starting to go wild. She tried not to smirk; based on the reaction halfway through their first song, she knew Graham wouldn’t be complaining that they went on too early in the evening.

Emma felt confident as they began playing Florence + the Machine’s, “Howl;” it was a little more difficult to sing, but she could get away with a more raw sound so long as she sang passionately. Graham loved this song, which is why they chose it, and she loved playing the opening alone with him, before Mary Margaret and David came in for the first chorus. Until that point, their version was as similar to the original track as possible, but once the guitar and bass entered, it transitioned from indie rock to alternative. Graham kept driving the pace, and his enthusiasm was contagious. They finished to more wild applause, and then transitioned into the peppy, relaxed opening bars of “I’m Yours.”

As she sang, she wondered why David had suggested the song. The crowd seemed to be enjoying it just fine, and it was always fun to play, but even adjusting it to be a little more reggae and a little more rock couldn’t save it from being slower than Emma would have preferred for the middle of the set. Even so, it was a fun sing-a-long song, so the audience stayed engaged, and she caught a bunch of people even putting their arms around each other’s shoulders to sway as they sang along with the band.

It was then that she caught her first glimpse of Killian in the crowd, and as soon as she spotted him, she was relieved that she hadn’t spotted him earlier. He was _right_ in the middle of her line of sight; even with her determination _not_ to find him, it had clearly taken no small amount of luck to avoid it. But now, of course, she wouldn’t be able to look away.

It would be okay, she told herself. It would be fine. Because they were just jamming now, and she didn’t have to worry so much about maintaining her composure and concentrating. But she was going to have to focus soon; what she was about to do was going to take all of her nerve. She desperately hoped she wasn’t making a mistake: either by screwing over her bandmates, or by making a fool out of herself in front of an audience.

If the majority of the crowd recognized the opening to “True Love,” it wasn’t clear. It didn’t matter, though. This wasn’t for them. She fixed her gaze on Killian and began to sing:

> _Sometimes I hate every single stupid word you say_
> 
> _Sometimes I wanna slap you in your whole face_
> 
> _There's no one quite like you_
> 
> _You push all my buttons down_
> 
> _I know life would suck without you_

To her immense delight, not only was the crowd chuckling at the lyrics and getting excited again, but Killian had clearly noticed that she was staring at him as she sang. Of course, sometimes, she wasn’t; sometimes she had her eyes closed, and sometimes, she was looking over at David or Mary Margaret. But whenever she could, she looked back at him.

> _Why do you rub me up the wrong way?_
> 
> _Why do you say the things that you say?_
> 
> _Sometimes I wonder how we ever came to be_
> 
> _But without you I'm incomplete_
> 
> _I think it must be true love_
> 
> _True love_

It was hard to read his expression, not just because she was still in the middle of a performance and couldn’t spare much mental effort on anything else, but also because it was clearly a mixture of emotions. At the very least, though, he looked a bit shocked. Good.

And with that, they were on their final song of the night. 

> _We're on top of the world_
> 
> _We're on top of the world now darling_
> 
> _So don't let go_
> 
> _Can I call you mine?_
> 
> _So can I call you mine now, darling?_
> 
> _For a whole lifetime?_
> 
> _My heart finally trusts my mind_
> 
> _And I know somehow it's right_

Before launching into the chorus, she grinned and winked at him. Of course, the chorus was her favorite part, and it was always a blast to sing with Mary Margaret, so she lost his gaze for a while as she closed her eyes and just _sang_ and _played._ But she managed to find his face again as she sang:

> _You're my bright blue sky_
> 
> _You're the sun in my eyes_
> 
> _Oh baby, you're my life_
> 
> _You're the reason why_  

The expression on his face was much easier to read now than it had been when she’d finished “True Love.” He looked practically enraptured, and a small, hopefully grin was forming on his face.

Relief washed over her at the same time as the song finished; the drop in adrenaline came at the worst possible time, and as the crowd applauded wildly, she had to grip her keyboard to keep her hands from visibly shaking.

They’d played their asses off. And _she’d_ done what she’d needed to do. And it had all worked.

Now, if only she could find a way to stop shaking. Once the applause had died down, she was engulfed in a hug from Mary Margaret; she could hear David and Graham congratulating each other as they began to move their equipment. It had gone _very_ well. “You knocked it out of the park!” Mary Margaret squealed. “You haven’t sung like that in _ages._ ”

“You rocked,” Emma replied, trying to deflect the conversation, in case Mary Margaret questioned whether or not there was additional motivation behind the performance. “You flat out rocked.”

“Are you okay?”

“Just the usual.” She began to pack up the keyboard without elaborating; her bandmates knew how jittery she got after performances were over. Mary Margaret seemed to buy it, or at the very least didn’t follow up with more questions, and soon enough, they were outside in the cool night air, packing their equipment back into David’s van.

They reentered the club just as Jolly My Roger finished setting up, and they managed to score the table that the aforementioned band had evacuated; Emma sat anxiously between Graham and David, wondering if she was more nervous about the results of the contest, or whatever would happen after Killian’s band was done.

And then they were off.

It was a song that Emma wasn’t familiar with, which irritated her. Killian was totally the type to pick a song no one else would know, even though picking songs no one knew was a _mistake_ when performing covers. But it was a fun alt rock song, and Jolly My Roger _was_ good. Killian was a soulful lead singer and an excellent guitarist, Ariel was one of the few local drummers Graham respected, and Liam was a very improvisational bass player—Emma suspected he would be a lot of fun to jam with.

As the first song ended, the band slowed down a tad for Imagine Dragons’ “Demons.” It was a good move, Emma privately admitted, and one her band usually opted for. She hoped the risk they’d taken with some of the songs had been worth it (plus, she hoped the risk _she_ had taken had been worth it). She had a good feeling about the latter, but knowing her, she’d jinx it.

Graham chuckled when the next song began—he intensely disliked Dashboard Confessional, and while Emma was pretty neutral about the band (and she actually _liked_ this song), she had to laugh a little as well. It seemed like a good ploy for Jolly My Roger; Killian looked and sounded particularly pretty while performing it, and she could see that swaying the votes of anyone who liked tall, dark, and handsome lead singers.

Next up was some Mumford & Sons, which she privately thought was a bit of a mistake. Not that it was a bad choice for them, but because everything they’d played was a pretty straight, faithful rendition of the original, and she was expecting (for their sake) that they might try to switch things up a bit. That was the _point_ of Battle of the Cover Bands: it was about creativity. But the song fit Jolly My Roger’s style, and Killian was one of the few guitarists she knew who could do the part justice.

And, well, it _was_ catchy. As Emma tapped her foot almost entirely involuntarily, she realized that Killian had his eyes on her as he sang the chorus.

> _And it was not your fault but mine_
> 
> _And it was your heart on the line_
> 
> _I really fucked it up this time_
> 
> _Didn’t I, my dear? Didn’t I my dear?_

She’d been to some of his performances before, and he’d spotted her in the audience. When it happened, sometimes he’d watch her a little, or smirk or wink—whatever made sense during whichever song he was in the middle of.

But this was different. It was something about the level of intensity. So she stared back until he averted his eyes and finished out the song.

And then Jolly My Roger slowed way down. Emma found it a little strange that they’d slow down for their last song of the night. While she’d told Killian a long time ago, before he’d gotten competitive, that her band would often take a slow song and rock it to keep people interested, she’d emphasized that it was a tactic she used _earlier_ in a performance. For her, going back to her classical days, it was like having three movements, a slow one in between two faster ones. So it surprised her that he’d put his adagio at the very end.

But before she could critique the decision in her head any longer, he looked up at her, very obviously deliberately, and began to sing:

> _Give me love like her_
> 
> _'Cause lately I've been waking up alone_
> 
> _Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt_
> 
> _Told you I'd let them go_

She felt as though she were alone in the room. And she _wished_ she were; she could see Mary Margaret and David turning slightly to look at her. But she couldn’t look away.

>   _Give a little time to me or burn this out_
> 
> _We'll play hide and seek to turn this around_
> 
> _All I want is the taste that your lips allow_
> 
> _My, my, my, my, oh give me love_

But it was okay. It was okay that he was singing to her. She’d done the same to him earlier. And she understood now, why he’d been so insistent on playing second. It had been for the same reason _she’d_ wanted to go on before him: neither one of them could wait any longer. They both wanted to be the first to say what they were feeling.

She couldn’t help but smile a little, and as she did, she saw him return it. He then winked (very subtly, but she knew it was a wink) and then closed his eyes as he and the rest of his band began the coda.

And then it was over; the audience burst into applause.

Emma knew that he would be busy immediately afterwards, but she couldn’t help but get up to go wait for him. She opted out of heading directly backstage; she knew how cranky she got when people got in her way when she was trying to carry equipment after a set. Instead, she found a spot near the bar she knew he’d have to walk past to get back to the crowd.

To her surprise and annoyance, though, her bandmates had followed her. “Um, what are you guys doing?”

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to reply, but David cut her off before she could speak. “Drinks! We’re getting drinks.”

“You’re the designated driver,” Emma reminded him. “Come on, Mr. Responsible.”

“He meant for me and Graham,” Mary Margaret said.

“I was just following you guys,” Graham said, clearly not in the loop.

“Oh! I thought you wanted a drink, too,” Mary Margaret replied. “Well, anyway, I’m getting one. Do you want one?” Graham shrugged and nodded. “Emma?”

She shook her head. “No thanks.” She was anxious enough that anything she put in her stomach was pretty likely to come right back out of it. It didn’t help that Jolly My Roger was taking _forever._ Mary Margaret and Graham had all but finished their drinks, and Doctor, Doctor was already starting their set, when the rival band finally emerged, led by Killian.

Who promptly strode up to her and, without a word, kissed her.

There were two negative aspects of the kiss. Neither was the way his arms immediately wrapped around her, or how his hands pressed against her back. Neither was the way he waited for her to reciprocate before deepening the kiss, or how enthusiastically he responded when she gripped the front of his shirt.

The first problem was that _all_ of their bandmates were watching. The second was that _she_ was supposed to be the one surprising _him_ with a kiss _._

He seemed aware of the second issue. When he finally pulled back, he smirked. “At least I beat you to _that_ ,” he said smugly.

“Only rookies call ‘heads,’” she retorted.

“I can’t believe we had the same idea.”

Someone cleared their throat, and she turned to see Killian’s brother Liam raising his eyebrow. “Sorry, little brother, but I _may_ have steered you in a particular direction with the song suggestions.” Emma laughed.

“What are you on about?” Killian asked indignantly. One arm was still wrapped around Emma’s waist, and she leaned into his side gently. “I finalized the set list.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Ariel almost fell off the bar stool she’d been perched on. “I remember Liam suggesting Mumford & Sons, _and_ he’s the one who emailed us the YouTube video of Ed Sheeran’s live performance.”

Killian was clearly stunned, and Emma was about to tease him a bit, but then David spoke up. “I guess Emma wins this one. I had a bunch of songs I was going to suggest, but she just came in one day last week with better ones.”

“Wait, you what?” It was her turn to be stunned.

“We bumped into Liam a couple weeks ago,” Mary Margaret said. “We were sick of both of you moping and figured we would try to knock some sense into you as subtly as we could. You know how it is with music—it speaks to you. Sometimes, you don’t know what you’re feeling until you hear it expressed musically.”

“We thought if we picked the right songs for tonight, it might get you two lovebirds thinking about what you really feel about each other, so that _some people_ might stop being insufferably over-competitive arses.”

“And that _some other people_ would stop making excuses about not dating customers.”

“Wow,” Ariel commented. “I guess I was the only one out of the loop!”

“Nope.” Graham’s exasperation was evident. “Though it’s a pleasure to know that we weren’t the only band that didn’t base our setlist on what might actually win this competition.”

“Have a sense of humor,” Liam said amiably. “You folks were brilliant. Now, come on—plenty of time to mock my little brother later. We’re missing the rest of the set.” And with that, Mary Margaret, David, Graham, Ariel, and Liam walked back into the club, leaving Emma and Killian alone—well, alone enough—at last.

“I suppose we had it coming,” she finally said.

He laughed. “Though it sounds like you were one step ahead of me.”

“The tiniest step. Negligible. Insignificant.”

“Love, you won fair and square.”

“Maybe you can drop the competitiveness,” she reminded him. “I don’t really care about who wins this weird game.”

“That depends,” he said, his tone cautious. “Are you dropping your policy about dating customers?”

“Not really.” His face fell. “I mean, if you’re going to be my boyfriend, I probably shouldn’t date my customers, right?”

“No, you probably shouldn’t.” His arm around her tightened.

“Should we head in?” she asked. “We’re missing the illustrious Victor Whale.”

“The consummate performance artist. Too right, love. Can’t miss a great cover band.”

The table her band had snagged during Jolly My Roger’s set was taken, and she couldn’t spot either set of bandmates anywhere. But there was plenty of space on the dance floor, and the tune was an appropriate one to dance to. And, of course, to sing along to:

> _She took my arm_
> 
> _I don't know how it happened_
> 
> _We took the floor and she said_
> 
> _“Don't you dare look back_
> 
> _Just keep your eyes on me”_
> 
> _I said, “You're holding back"_
> 
> _She said, "Shut up and dance with me"_
> 
> _This woman is my destiny_
> 
> _She said, "Ooh-ooh-hoo_
> 
> _Shut up and dance with me”_

They left after that, unable to wait until the end of the set. And when their bandmates called to let them know who’d won Battle of the Cover Bands, they were more than happy to let the calls go to voicemail.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story! I'd love to know what you think!
> 
> Lyric credits:
> 
> P!nk ft Lily Allen - "True Love"  
> Christina Perri ft Ed Sheeran - "be my forever"  
> Mumford & Sons - "Little Lion Man"  
> Ed Sheeran - "Give Me Love"  
> WALK THE MOON - "Shut Up and Dance"


End file.
